


Taking Measure

by Languidly



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Spoilers for MTMTE #55, The Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye (IDW)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24893110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Languidly/pseuds/Languidly
Summary: Then the blast of a fusion cannon is scorching the air in front of them, and suddenly, the entirety of the enemy’s fire is concentrated onMegatron, who takes it, takes it like he was constructed not as a miner but as a wargod.
Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 11
Kudos: 200





	Taking Measure

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the sequence of events in MTMTE #55.

Rodimus has never found himself more drawn to someone.

It’s not admiration at first sight. It’s a healthy dose of wariness, a sort of ringing disbelief, a dash of default Autobot loathing and a whole lot of other conflicting emotions that he can’t name. Megatron is both the beginning and the end of the war and Cybertronian idealism. He stands like a blazing statue on the bridge, giving off heat that reduces Rodimus’ own flame to embers. Those red optics pause on him, take the measure of him, and then leave him.

Rodimus is always left glowering and somewhat frustrated, because this is _his_ ship, and this is _his_ quest, and he is supposed to be the charismatic captain with no equal (barring Thunderclash - but that is also up for debate). He wants to be _seen_ , not measured and left.

Rodimus also wants to _touch_.

Because Rodimus is impulsive, he makes it happen. A jab to the shoulder during an argument (though he might as well have been poking his finger into an immovable pillar). Stepping just a little too close when he wants to make a point. Whenever they are walking in the same direction, Rodimus pushes past that strong, solid body nonchalantly, and the brief contact makes his own plating smolder. 

Most of the time, Rodimus manages to bury these inexplicable urges. He slacks off and he mocks and he disagrees whenever he can do so without irrevocable consequence. He finds himself keeping Megatron more and more in his sights so he can take the measure of _him_. Megatron is always stern and disciplined - and as he gets more comfortable with the crew, Rodimus notices with no small delight that Megatron can also be sarcastic and bitingly clever. 

He notices the increasing incidences of Megatron quietly chatting with Ultra Magnus at a corner of the bridge, then in the small booths of Mirage’s bar. Eavesdrops on a poetry reading that all of two people attend. Rodimus would still not trust Megatron farther than he can throw him, but Megatron seems at least determined to keep a lid on his renowned violent warlord tendencies, and also determined to make an all-around general effort. Rodimus can appreciate that.

One night, without warning, Megatron appears in his dreams. 

Rodimus wakes with a lurch and heat pooling in his interface array. It soon becomes clear that the dreams are recurring - vivid night-time fantasies that make his moral compass spin when he’s awake and watching the ex-Decepticon commander stalk around his ship. Rodimus has never been one to deny himself, though, so by the time he has the third dream, he’s taking himself in hand under the scalding shower of his wash-rack, venting shallowly and thinking of gleaming red optics looking back at him. 

He finds himself grinning more, unbidden, in Megatron’s presence, and feels almost smug when he can feel the flickers of stony uncertainty in Megatron’s EM field whenever he looks over and catches Rodimus staring. Rodimus doesn’t know quite yet where he wants to go with all this, but being around Megatron has at some point been upgraded to become agreeably anticipatory.

When Megatron says that he will not fight the Decepticon Justice Division, Rodimus feels it like a blow to the gut, a visceral betrayal that makes him so angry he can’t think straight for a second. Megatron has waged war for thousands of millenia - how dare he say he is afraid? What is he even afraid of? But he won’t go after Megatron, not when the rest of his crew is looking to him, and Rodimus pulls himself up tall and gathers all of his considerable (possibly reckless) confidence to make their stand. He flames up and fights, fights until he feels the artificial spark boost wearing off, until his fans are roaring in his audials and they are standing in a loose circle, surrounded by the enemy.

Then the blast of a fusion cannon is scorching the air in front of them, and suddenly, the entirety of the enemy’s fire is concentrated on _Megatron_ , who takes it, takes it like he was constructed not as a miner but as a war _god_. He is dizzyingly magnetic and fast, firing without pause through enemy ranks, his field as large and impenetrable as the reinforced hull of the Nemesis, and he stands ahead of Rodimus, ahead of them all, like a divine shield. Megatron pushes the injured Ravage into Rodimus’ arms, snarls at him to get inside, to get help, and Rodimus balks but cannot defy the sheer force of the order. 

He watches Megatron from the fortress console, fingers clenching so hard that they hurt. Feels his spark stutter incongruously when Overlord and Tarn level their guns at Megatron’s head. He cringes reflexively when the force field is detonated, trapping Megatron in the midst of his hunters. Rodimus can hear Ravage going on about how Megatron is smarter than everyone else, more dangerous than anyone else, and he knows it’s true, he knows it’s true, but his internal systems are still clenching in something that almost resembles panic, so he continues to stare at the screen, willing Megatron to do _something_.

Rodimus abruptly changes his mind when the antimatter begins to flow from Megatron’s eyes and he realizes what Megatron’s plan is. Megatron’s incredibly stupid, incredibly clever, self-sacrificial plan, and Rodimus has always believed in destiny, but he has never believed it more than at that moment when he whirls around and sees the teleportation device, realizes that he has a way to get to the edge of the precipice in time and save Megatron.

He all but screams Megatron’s name, feeling himself wobble dangerously as charge bursts under his plating and the atoms of quantum matter dissipate around him. Rodimus holds out his hand, and he has never been more certain about anything in his life. He catches the look in Megatron’s optics as they stand in the space of split seconds, between life and death.

Then a hand closes around his own, and the teleportation yanks them back into the fortress in a lightheaded rush, all systems spinning. Rodimus watches as Megatron kneels by Ravage, watches as Terminus appears and Megatron staggers into his arms. His own body is still reeling.

It’s late into the night - or early into the morning - when most of the fortress’ inhabitants start settling down to recharge. Megatron has been sitting quietly with Terminus but is clearly not comfortable being surrounded by more than 50 bots, most unfamiliar, in an open space. Since Rodimus is still watching him, he sees when Megatron bids Terminus a good night and makes his way slowly back to the Rodpod. The ship has suffered considerable damage from the attack that now strands them on this world, but the singular hab suite is lockable, and recharge slabs have emergency power that will keep them running even if the ship’s circuitry has been shorted out. 

Megatron stops just shy of the door, and then slowly, slowly turns to face Rodimus. 

Rodimus wants to say something snarky, but red optics are once more looking over him, measuring him, spark-weary and bitter and with a lingering gleam of ferocity. So he crosses the last few steps that separate them instead, reaches up, crushes his mouth to Megatron’s before words can escape.

The heat coming off the dark gray plates is intoxicating, Megatron’s powerful ease as he pulls Rodimus up against his body even more so. They stumble backwards, glossa entangling, and then Megatron hits the recharge slab with the back of his knees and Rodimus is sprawling above him, hands greedily roaming over armor seams and transformation panels. They are still charged from the night’s battle, processors staticky with auto-repair, and through the buzz of his audials, he hears his cooling fans kick in on maximum speed as he grinds himself down on Megatron’s hips, and Megatron slides hands over Rodimus’ thighs in an unforgiving grip and pulls him down. Rodimus nips at taut neck cables, hears Megatron’s low growl, and shudders as all the remaining power in his circuits flows to his interface arrays. 

They battle in this as well, of course, but it’s less a struggle for dominance and more an affirmation that they are both still here, still _alive_. Rodimus remembers what he saw in Megatron’s face, the grimness, the acceptance of death, the hesitation to take Rodimus’ hand and follow; unconsciously, his fingers gentle and stroke, tracing the swirls of Megatron’s chestplates. Megatron is staring back at him, and Rodimus sees it all: the infallible strength and the blaze of an immeasurable loss. In that darkness, there is a thin glimmer of tenderness and thankfulness, and those battle-scarred lips finally soften, barely perceptibly, from their rigid line. For _Rodimus_.

He pushes Megatron’s thighs apart, and now Rodimus is shaking with blind arousal and the overwhelming need to be connected. He clutches at Megatron’s hands, grounding himself before pushing in, and in; he has to drop his head back and try to remember how to move beyond desperate little jerks, spike throbbing in the clamping warmth of Megatron’s heated valve, lubricant spilling across and between their thighs. Megatron groans, low and strained, and bucks Rodimus into a punishing pace. He can feel the charge humming insistently under his armor, increasing rapidly towards overload as he pounds wildly into Megatron’s body over and over and over again.

He thinks he hears Megatron bite out his name, a guttural sound, and then Rodimus’ vision whites out in a blaring rush of static. 

When he comes to, he has to send manual overrides to his sputtering systems to unlock his limbs and release the painful grip of his fingers on Megatron’s wrists. Megatron is looking at him, hot and soft at the same time, the battle-worn body still making small convulsions around Rodimus’ spike, and Rodimus can’t help it, he wrenches through the protests of his processor, slides his hands down the thick steel waist and then flares his overheated palm down onto Megatron’s anterior access panel to pressurize the spike there. He can feel that his own valve is dripping wet, and without further thought Rodimus is opening his own panel, raising himself on his knees, scrabbling, and then he is sliding down in a clamping, heady rush. Distantly, he can hear himself moaning, his body shivering uncontrollably around the penetration.

Now Megatron’s hands are fixed to Rodimus’ hips, pressing hard enough to dent, and Rodimus lets himself fall forward. He can barely see or hear anything beyond himself venting hard, and all he knows is that he has to lift himself up and slam down, repeatedly; the spike in him is hot and vibrating, it fills his valve entirely, striking at all the sensitive nodes inside, and the charge is crackling all over the circuitry there and nothing has ever felt so _good_. Megatron is shuddering under him and abruptly yanking him down, and Rodimus sees the red optics dim as overload crashes through, can feel the near-scorching transfluid surging over his inner nodes and leaking from his valve. The charge dances over his sensory mesh, sparking fiercely, and Rodimus is whimpering as his own overload shorts his systems for the second time.

As he comes back hazily online, Rodimus can feel his spark thrumming hard in his chest, and sense the answering pulse of Megatron’s under his own. He opens his mouth once, twice, but shuts it, because Rodimus still doesn’t know what exactly he wants from all this and they are living on borrowed time, but what he _does_ know will probably not sit well with Megatron: _Don’t do **anything** like that ever again_, a hard order, accompanied by a deep curling frustration and a want so clear all at once that it is frightening. _You’re important. You’re important to me._

He’s sure his unguarded EM field is probably shouting all of this at Megatron, but as long as Rodimus doesn’t say it out loud, perhaps they can both continue to pretend they don’t know it.


End file.
